Friday, March 28, 2014

The good old days you say?

“Bring back the good old days!All this here fightin’ and dadburned confusion
going on is horrible; what with Russia annexin’ Crimea, a winless war goin’
over in Afghanistan and North Korea fiddin’ to blow up the whole world…”

I looked at the grizzly old timer on the front porch of the country
feed store near Bastrop, Texas and taking the bait, I asked him what
time period he was referring to.

“What time period you referring to, old timer?”

“Youknow.Lyndon Baines Johnson’s Great Society.The one where all those civil rights laws
were enacted and Texas education got a boost,” he coughed heavily for about 30
seconds and then spit a long brown line of what he called “tabacker juice” into
a dull bronze spittoon close to my left Columbia hiking boot.

“The 60’s then?” I inquired.

“Yea, back in the 60’s I left the keys in my Corvair Monza
in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly and never worried someone would steal
it.Never gave it a thought.”He paused for effect and then looking me in
the eye, spit again.

I didn’t have the heart to comment it might have been
because Ralph Nadar had deemed that car as “unsafe at any speed,” but listened
as he ruminated on his version of the Great Society.

“You see young fellar, it was jest better times.Jest better in every way.America had respect.R-E-S-P-E-C-K-T.Not what we got now; no not at all.”He paused to expectorate.“Moms stayed at home and made fixin’s for
their families.The local doctor would
come to your home and you could pay them if you had it, and insurance was
cheap.”

“Well, you have a good set of points, old man,” I said, but
he wasn’t finished and waving his hand like he was casting seed, he continued
in his slow drawn out way.

“I learned a trade before I got out of high school, as did
my 3 brothers, and we opened a string of auto repair shops that ran as far
south as Columbus and as far north as Killeen.No charity from the Great Society for us.”He laughed and coughed heavily and went on,
“That’s when I bought my first Cadillac.I was thirty-nine and had saved every penny to git that there car.”

“So, you bought the luxury car after years of struggle?”

“Dadburn right.These
young fellars now live with their parents until they’re 40 years old, but drive
a luxury vehicle straight out of high school.They got it all backerds.They
don’t have no idea they are livin’ the life of a parasite.”He laughs so hard I have to slap his boney
back four of five times before he stops, but he doesn’t miss the spittoon as he
resumes.

“Folks growed their own gardens and raised their own
chickens.We never had trouble with
chubby kids and slothful children; as they were too busy doing chores and
walkin’ to school to get fat.It was
better times I’m sayin’.”Again he stares
at me for effect and then launches the long brown stream of juice into the
spittoon.

I wasn’t convinced, as I grew up a teenager in the 60’s,
graduating from high school in 1970.“Well,
it wasn’t all good and you have to be honest here old man.What about the race riots in the streets and
the assassination of JFK, Bobby Kennedy, Martin King, and George Wallace being
shot?”He starts to object, but I hold
up a finger and continue.

“What about Vietnam?What about the 58,000+ Americans who died
there?What about the explosion of drugs
in this country and people burning their Draft cards?What about Agent Orange?What about the rabid overshadowing fear of
Communism…?”

When I said the word communism, the old man leaned forward
and I saw his eyes clearly focus.What
he said next scared the bejeebers out of me.

“Communism you say?Communism?Why that’s exactly why
I want to go back.It’s here.My God, boy, Ray Charles can see that…”The look on his face is so sincere and filled
with dread that I took a step back.

“Look at what our government has done to this once great
nation and tell me otherwise.We are
living in a Socialist country where more people are either employed by the
government, or dependent on it.”He
spits again and I note his country twang went straight out the window about 30
seconds before.

“Well, old man, I guess I have to agree with you.As bad as it was with the assassinations,
riots, and Vietnam War, it does appear that in comparison to where we are
going, the 60’s were definitely the good old days.

I headed back to my Jeep and the old man to his tobacco
chewing and as I drove off, he waved.

Another great article. I too think the old timer is fiction. That's because I have known you a long time, and you would never call anybody a "old timer." Baytown Bert, you are too nice of a person to do that. AD